


Lead and I'll Follow

by Woad



Category: Marvel Noir
Genre: Dancing, Fade to Black, Fluff, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Snarky Tony Stark, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9088948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woad/pseuds/Woad
Summary: Under orders, Captain Rogers prepares for a gala by taking dance lessons. He's not sure how Fury persuaded Adventurer Tony Stark to give said lessons, though. 
For comm prompt: For one night, Steve and Tony try to forget there's a war going on as they slow dance, alone in a cozy room.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cap Iron Man Community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cap+Iron+Man+Community).



Steve’s partner lets out a muffled, terrified gasp as he treads on her foot for the _umpteenth_ time that night. He backs off, the floorboards of the London attic room groaning under his feet as the upbeat music carries on without the dancers.

From the crate that he’s perched on, one impatient foot swinging against the old dry wood with staccato thumps, Tony Stark sighs. Fury’s favorite consultant is dressed in a pair of dark gray trousers, suspenders, and a light shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Stark lifts the needle off of the gramophone at his side, eyeballs the developing track marks on the spinning record in the dim light, and takes a long swig from a brown bottle.

“At this rate we’re going to be here all night. From the top Captain, Ms. Taylor.” He waits for Steve to bring his feet together and dutifully take up the girl’s hands in his. Steve does so as gently as possible. Her hands feel too small, like Steve might accidentally crush them if he squeezed too hard.

Rebirth had its success months ago, but ever since, Steve has had little exposure to anything beyond the hardtack of military life. He's been surrounded by men, drafty tents, the cardboard that passes for rations, and general roughness for so long that something as simple as dancing feels alien, like Steve somehow fits into it at an even odder angle than when he was frail and tiny.

Stark is a recent acquaintance, first pulled in by Fury for a highly sensitive mission. Steve still doesn’t know him well-enough to be completely comfortable with this setup, but Steve’s here under direct orders. He has no clue what compelled Stark to give him lessons. Possibly Fury is dangling something over the adventurer’s head.

Stark drops the needle, and as Steve and the girl resume the dance he calls out, “Left, right, side-together, left, right.”

His droning can almost convince Steve that he’s doing drills out in the fresh air of the base’s quad, rather than in an attic with the blackout shades drawn tight to keep the light of the one lamp in the room from spilling onto the street.

The two dancers manage the basic step this time, and a second and third iteration. Then Steve tries to move the girl into the corner step that they’re working on. Only she must not realize it. She takes another step back instead of forward, and Steve winds up yanking her after him by accident. Not enough to hurt her, but it’s a very awkward affair.

“Don't do that with the ambassador's daughter,” Stark warns, and Steve's face gets hot. But Stark's ire isn't reserved for just Steve. “I thought you said that you could dance, Ms. Taylor.”

“Sure I can,” she wrinkles her button nose at the adventurer, “but not this old-fashioned stuff.”

“Old stuff?” Stark leans forward on his crate. “Captain Doughboy here can’t invite an ambassador’s daughter to dance the _Lindy Hop_. If you don't know any good dances, you might as well leave now.”

“It’s not her fault that I can’t keep track of where my feet are,” Steve butts in.

They both ignore Steve.

The girl has puffed up at Tony’s slight. “Fine,” she says. “Find yourself a fancier lady who knows how to do your horse trot.”

She drops Steve's hands as if they're poxed, and stomps out the attic room door, making the floor tremble beneath her.

“ _Foxtrot!_ ” Stark calls after her with a roll of his eyes.

“Did you have to do that?” Steve starts to follow, to try to convince her to come back, but Stark makes a disgruntled noise.

“No, let her go.”

“That's the third girl you've done that to,” Steve reminds him, just in case Stark's forgotten how little progress they've made. Steve's supposed to be at a formal function with Colonel Fury, representing the US military, three nights from now, and he can barely lead a woman in a dance without tripping over his own feet.

“I know,” Stark says, just as his chronicler, Pepper Potts, peeks her head through the door.

“And that,” she says, clearly referring to the upset girl, “is why I didn't volunteer for this exercise.”

“You know how to foxtrot, though, don't you?” Stark's voice is full of both hope and barely concealed threat.

“Not for all the gold in _El Dorado_ , Tony.” She says, bringing in Steve’s freshly pressed tie, the final piece of his dress uniform. He’s never even worn it since he was fitted after Rebirth, and now he’s expected to dance in the stiff fabric.

Stark sighs, hunching over, chin in his hands, studying Steve as he does a clumsy job of doing up his tie. “This has got to be the lousiest adventure yet: _Tony Stark and the Mystery of Why the Perfect Man Has Two Left Feet_.”

“I’m not perfect,” Steve mutters, embarrassed, pulling the windsor knot tight. His tie is hopelessly lopsided.

“Fury assigned me the task of making sure the ambassador’s daughter thinks otherwise.”

“Speaking of,” Ms. Potts hovers on her way out, “shall I try to find another young lady as a stand-in?”

Tony waves her away with the flick of a hand. “No. Not for now.”

“Thank you, Ms. Potts,” Steve makes a point to say, a counterpoint to Stark’s brusqueness.

She beams at him as she closes the door. “You’re welcome, Captain. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Glad to have at least one vote of confidence, Steve turns his attention back to Stark.

The other man slips down from his vantage point on the crate, and stalks toward Steve like a big cat circling wounded prey. He takes Steve’s tie, and without asking, starts to fix the poorly done knot.

“Hard to believe I'm really the only _polite society_ Fury can call in for this.” He mutters, yanking with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

“In all fairness, do you know the other Commandos?”

“No more than you.”

“We’re all cut from the same cloth—and it's burlap, not silk. Can you really claim to be surprised that they don't know how to dance either?”

Stark's lips quirk, not quite a smile, though his eyes are bright with amusement as he steps back to appraise his work. “No. No I cannot.”

After a few beats of silence Steve raises his hands, questioning. “Now what?”

“You want a thing done, best to do it yourself,” Stark says, stepping close again and taking Steve’s hands in his. “Been ages since I did this backwards though.”

Steve fights down his initial shock at being handled by Stark, and tries to quiet the discomfort he feels at being so close—hip to hip—to another man. Heaven knows he's been on intimate terms with the Commandos, but not in such a context as this. And frankly, none of them are as handsome as the man in his arms. 

The positioning is much closer than anything he maintained between himself and Ms. Taylor, and Steve wonders if he's been holding himself wrong all along. Unfortunately, he's far too agitated about the contact to draw direct attention to it, so instead he asks obliquely, “Are you sure about this, Mr. Stark?” This does, after all, bring a whole new level of commitment to Fury's mission.

“Tony, please,” the man corrects him. “And yes, perfectly. Though we’re going to do a few basic steps first to make sure I don't trip all over myself.” The fingers of his left hand tap a short ditty on Steve's shoulder. “Pay attention to to how I shift my weight. It'll help your partner when you’re the one actually leading.”

“Okay,” Steve says, and as they begin to dance he diligently marks all the slight presses and pulls of Tony's body and hands. To Steve's delight, it's much easier with Tony. He’d thought it would be the opposite, but he doesn't feel like he's liable to hurt Tony quite so easily.

And perhaps it's just Steve, but the room feels much warmer with Tony this close. He can almost forget why he’s here, forget everything beyond this room.

“Good,” Tony says, when they've zigzagged their way all across the room. Steve feels a bit lighter on his feet at the praise. “Corner step next,” Tony announces, and Steve obediently falls into practicing the rocking motions.

He only steps on Tony's feet twice, though he does accidentally crash into Tony once, forgetting to go backwards instead of forward.

“I don't understand why they don't send you instead of me,” Steve complains after that embarrassing note.

Tony snorts, resuming position, completely unfazed by the full body contact. “I'm too old to charm a young debutante. I'm also not the pinnacle of army bioengineering. They want to show you off. The social gossip rag here and back home will be raving about you for months.”

Steve ignores the cold sort of horror that that sort of publicity engenders in him. He can just see the headlines now, _Super Soldier or Super Schlep?_ He doesn’t want to talk about the war and decides to focus on the first bit of what Tony said. “You're not that old.”

Tony grins. “Well, old enough not to go skirt chasing.”

“That must make me nearly a hundred,” Steve says, and then wonders if he's admitted too much. But it's true, he's never been much interested in the fairer sex.

If Tony reads anything into the comment, it's glossed over as he starts to teach Steve both the sway and the promenade steps. They work them into the dance and start up the music again. With Tony's step by step orders gone, just the lilt of the music, Steve finds he's actually enjoying himself.

“So you've had to teach some other hopeless fella how to dance?” Steve asks. Maybe it features in one of the adventures that Steve hasn’t read.

“Hmm?” Tony asks, startled out of some thought.

“You said you'd done this before.”

“Oh,” Tony blinks. “No, I wasn't teaching him to dance.”

He doesn't elaborate, just leaves Steve curious, and pulls away. “I think it's your turn to lead, Captain.”

Steve starts to take Tony's hands again, but Tony retreats half a step more, his strange tacit spell replaced by mischievousness. “That's not how you're going to ask her.”

Steve lets out a little huff. “Fine, fine. Miss, may I have the honor of this dance?” He adds a little half bow as flourish.

“Oh, _enchanté_ , Captain Rogers.” Tony ups Steve's flourish by holding out one hand delicately, and Steve nearly laughs as he flutters his blunt, dark eyelashes.

It's different leading, more complicated now that he has to ensure he signals to Tony properly. Almost immediately, Steve falters, his head so caught up in what he needs to wordlessly communicate that he completely forgets where his feet are.

He feels Tony tug at his shoulder, righting them, getting them back to a rhythm before the gentle cues fade. “Forget the hands for awhile,” Tony advises. “Move confidently. I can read your body.”

Steve bites his lip, desperately hoping Tony can't read it well enough to know the effect that comment has on Steve.

True to word, Tony seems to excel, reading each shift of Steve’s weight like an expert, pressing against Steve's hip as though it's the most natural thing in the world. It really makes Steve wonder…

They twirl about the attic at length, cementing the lessons, reinforcing them, and then...then they just continue. Tony seems to be happy, cheeks rosy from the dance, so caught up in the moment that further lessons are forgotten for the time being.

Steve thinks that maybe he’s beginning to read Tony in return. And with each passing minute, he grows more certain that he’s solved _Steven Rogers and the Mystery of the Unlikely Dance Instructor_.

But Tony can't compensate for everything, and when Steve tries a turn, he forgets to raise his hand, causing them to break the rhythm again.

“Sorry,” Steve says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, that was better. You’re still holding back, though. You've got to be bolder; it makes it easier to follow your intent.”

Steve holds out his hands to Tony once more. This time, when Tony wraps his arms around him, Steve says, “That's a bit hypocritical.”

Tony frowns at him, but follows Steve's lead as they begin to dance again. “Not sure I take your meaning, Cap.”

“I think you do,” Steve steers them around the room. “I think it's why you finally decided to take up where the girls left off.” He transitions into a promenade, and is delighted when Tony fluidly falls into step with him. “I think it’s why you agreed to be here in the first place.” Steve follows up with a spin, and then once they are back to a closed position, firmly fixes them to the spot. He has Tony in his arms, their hips flush, and his head bent so that they’re nose to nose. His palms feel hopelessly sweaty from the gamble he's taking.

“Can you read my intention now?”

Tony blinks at him, so rapidly that it recalls the fluttering eyelashes from earlier. “Very much so.” Then the shock of it all breaks and Tony grins wide before leaning into a deep kiss. “Well done.” He moves his hips minutely, but enough that Steve gets a good idea where Tony wants to lead them next. “What say you to forgetting the war effort and the rest of the world for an hour or two?”

Steve moves his hands from Tony’s shoulders, down, much farther south than they've traveled over the course of the night. “I'd say that suits me perfectly.”

#

“You’ve got the foxtrot down, then?” Pepper asks as Steve heads out, the night grown so late that it's early.

He nods. “Starting the waltz tomorrow.”

“We'll look forward to seeing you then,” she says, a twinkle in her eye.

Steve waves to Pepper as he leaves the little boarding house. His uniform, he realizes belatedly, is hopelessly rumpled. He'll have to ask to borrow Pepper’s iron before Friday.

He should have ample chance, though. He's due back every night until then.


End file.
